


My Brown-Haired Lass

by gingersnapper



Series: Our Anthem Universe [4]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: District Thirteen, Dreams, F/M, Marriage, Visitation, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersnapper/pseuds/gingersnapper
Summary: As Katniss’s wedding to Peeta approaches, Katniss struggles with mothers, or a lack thereof. A rather unexpected visitor in her dreams settles her mind and her nerves.Set in the universe of ‘Our Anthem’ in which Katniss is a refugee from Hebridia (Scotland) and the rebellion is won three years after the Quarter Quell.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: Our Anthem Universe [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848961
Kudos: 4





	My Brown-Haired Lass

**Author's Note:**

> Songs featured:
> 
> ‘S An T-Aparan Goirid ‘S An T-Aparan Ùr’ — Julie Fowlis
> 
> ‘Mo Ghruagach Dhonn’ — Julie Fowlis

It was now mid-May, 2161, only a week until mine and Peeta’s wedding. It was planned in haste, meant to be filmed for some stupid propo in District Thirteen, and I was given a set of dresses that Cinna had designed that were brought here from District Twelve. They were beautiful, really - all Capitol in design, meant for the Capitol wedding that Peeta and I were meant to have under Snow - but they weren’t me. They weren’t Katniss Everdeen Fòlais. As much as I loved them, and as much as I loved Cinna, I couldn’t will myself to wear one of them.

When I first came to Panem, I was forced to cast off all semblances of Hebridia from me. The language and the accent were the hardest parts to try and rid myself off. The language I could manage, but the accent I just couldn’t, and like everything else in District Twelve that was illegal, eventually, people stopped caring. Hebridean accents were heard everywhere in District Twelve and while we were encouraged to rid ourselves of them, it wasn’t actually enforced. In District Thirteen, however, we were outside of Panem and there were easily over two hundred Hebridean refugees, all from the same ship that I had come to Panem on. Hebridean culture was celebrated here with cèilidhs and a class that taught Gàidhlig and even a History of Hebridia class. I knew what I wanted to wear: my mother’s traditional Hebridean dress, which had been in my father’s trunk when he, my brothers and all of their things had been rescued from the water.

It was tradition in Hebridia for a bride to wear a cream-coloured muslin dress adorned with the tartan of her family, while the groom wore a kilt of the tartan of his family, and each of them wore a small tartan bandana around their necks draped behind them in their family’s tartan. Part of a Hebridean wedding ceremony was to exchange those bandanas, the groom wearing the tartan of the bride’s family and the bride wearing the tartan of the groom’s family. This tradition was lost in Panem, but was celebrated in Thirteen. I remember helping Annie Cresta pick out her own family’s tartan shortly before her wedding to Finnick.

_ “My mother’s maiden name was MacLeod,”  _ Annie had told me.  _ “She was born in Hebridia, and my father was, too - he was Ceallach - but they made him change his name to Cresta. They said it sounded more ‘ocean-like’, even though Hebridia was a seafaring nation.” _

_ “Were you born in Hebridia?” _ I’d asked her.

_ “I was born at sea, on the ship that was bringing my parents to Panem,” _ she replied. The former English version of the surname ‘Ceallach’ was Kelly, and the Clan Kelly/Ceallach tartan was a pale green with white, brown and a hint of red. She wore a Clan Ceallach tartan at her wedding to Finnick and she looked positively beautiful in it. 

The fact that Annie and I were both Hebridean was a bonding point for us. She, like me, was fluent in Hebridean, and when she and Johanna were rescued from the Capitol, only I could calm her down by saying to her,  _ “Gabh do shocair!” _ which was Gàidhlig for ‘calm down’. She had been shouting in Gàidhlig, probably the first language she ever knew, which clued me in that Annie Cresta was of Hebridean descent. I suppose I should have realised it sooner - she had red Hebridean hair and beautiful stormy grey Hebridean eyes, and a touch of a Hebridean accent. She was, like me, a refugee.

_ “Where am I? I am so scared!” _ Annie had cried to me when I spoke to her in our native tongue.

_ “You’re safe now, Annie. You’re going to be just fine,”  _ I’d told her, but it wasn’t enough.  _ “Do you know the song, An T-Aparan Goirid ‘S An T-Aparan Ùr?”  _ She nodded, and I smiled. The song, in English, was called ‘The Short Apron and the Long Apron’. It was a Hebridean folk song. I didn’t know if they sang it in District Four, as we sometimes did in District Twelve, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to try, and when she nodded, I knew just what to do to calm her down.

_ “An t-aparan goirid ‘s an t-aparan ùr, _

_ An t-aparan goirid nach ruig ach a’ ghlùn. _

_ ‘S nuair bha mi òg ‘s mi fuarst’ rim lùb, _

_ ‘S e dh’fhàg mi fo leòn ach an t-aparan ùr...” _

The lyrics talked about the short apron and the new apron, stating that the short apron only reached the knee. When the singer was young and easily led, the new apron was the cause of their hurt. Annie smiled when I started singing the familiar Hebridean folk song and joined me in on the next verse.

_ “Bha cliù ort, a Sheasaidh, ‘s tu ‘n ainnir bha suairc, _

_ A chumadh rid ghealladh ‘s a leanadh rid luaidh; _

_ ‘S ann unnad bha ‘n spiorad, ‘s tu ‘chinneadh nam buadh _

_ Nach gabhadh an giorag ‘s nach tilleadh rob chuan.” _

This verse talked to the person who the song was about - Seasaidh, or Jessie in English - who was a famous and polite young woman who kept her word and was faithful to her beloved. She was spirited and a descendant of a virtuous clan that knew no fear and that the sea held no dread. I smiled as Annie had joined in singing with me.

_ “There you are, it’s all right...”  _ I’d said to her, holding her hand. We sang the rest of the song together, Annie finally feeling safe and secure where she was, until Finnick entered the room. The doctors of Thirteen diagnosed her with hijacking, claiming that she had had tracker jacker venom injected into her veins and had her memories altered. She hated and feared Finnick, believing him to be dangerous, and that was when I got to work on creating the tracker jacker antivenom. Peeta was subjected to many sleepless nights as I kept the light on in our compartment until all hours of the night scribbling away in my father’s notebook on the page titled ‘Possible Cure For Hijacking’ - evidently, he’d already had hijacking on his mind and started the formula for an antivenom, which I finished, and rescued poor Annie and Johanna from the confines of their minds. It took time, but about six months after Annie and Johanna were rescued from the Capitol, in March of 2161, Annie and Johanna were fairly well off, and Annie and Finnick got married.

I smiled at the memory of helping Annie find the Ceallach family tartan for her to wear on her wedding day. Because following the Hebridean wedding tradition was common in Thirteen, they had a whole compartment dedicated to holding the family tartans of all kinds of Hebridean clans. McDonald, Ceallach, MacLeod, Muirreach, Dunaid - even Fòlais, which was the tartan that I had been looking for. The Fòlais tartan was green with stripes of blue, a faded burgundy red, white and black, and when I found it, I was quite thrilled. Peeta wasn’t Hebridean and didn’t have any Hebridean in him, as far as I knew - who knew, perhaps his ancestors a long time ago came from the land that was now Hebridia? - which meant that he didn’t have a tartan to give me, but I would give him my Fòlais bandana. When I told him about it, he’d decided to take a plain white cloth and paint it so he could still follow the tradition, but he wouldn’t let me see it until the wedding.

I hid my mother’s traditional Hebridean dress, adorned with the Fòlais tartan, in Agnessa and Prim’s room so Peeta wouldn’t see it. “You won’t keep your Everdeen name?” Agnessa had asked me when I came to drop off my mother’s dress.

“It was never mine,” I replied. “I was born a Fòlais, I’ll always be a Fòlais, and now, I’m going to be a Mellark,” I replied, and she let out a sigh. “It’s not like you were ever my mother, or Uncle Archie was ever my father. Everdeen is my mother’s maiden name.”

“I suppose the thought that we saw you as our daughter never occurred to you,” said Agnessa somewhat bitterly.

“Did you? Uncle Archie did, but I never got that feeling from you. I’ve always sensed some sort of hesitancy to love me from you. I suppose I can’t blame you. You didn’t go through the effort to give birth to me. You were forced to raise someone else’s child, the niece of the man you married who died when that niece was still a child,” I said to her, equally bitterly, and she let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Katniss,” she replied.

“Don’t say anything. You never did in the past.”

“I tried very hard to be a mother to you.”

“But you just couldn’t do it, could you? Trying to tell me ‘I was too young for a boyfriend’ or ‘too young for marriage’ or how ‘you thought it was inappropriate that I was sharing a compartment with a man while I was unmarried’. You always tried to exercise control over me, but you never tried to mother me. You never explained to me what a period was, I had to learn that by myself. My escort - the one who was escorting me to my death in the Hunger Games - had to explain it to me, and she doesn’t even  _ get _ periods. You never explained to me anything about sex, I had to learn about how the body functions and how the male and female reproduction systems work from a biased book in a class.”

“Are you and Peeta having sex?”

“You’ve lost the right to know the answer to that.”

“So you are?”

“I’m not answering you.” A moment of silence passed between us. I wasn’t going to tell her that no, Peeta and I hadn’t had sex yet. We’d fooled around, just a little, kissing and grinding up against each other occasionally, touching each other through our clothes. A couple of times, I allowed him to hold my breasts under my shirt, but I wouldn’t let him look at me. But nothing more than that.

“Well, I hope you’re using protection...”

“Don’t even try to be a mother to me, Agnessa. You gave up that right a long time ago, when I needed a mother and you only saw me as a nuisance. All I’ve asked you to do is hold onto this dress for me but if you can’t do that, then I’ll ask Annie and Finnick to hold onto it in their compartment, or I’ll bring it back to Calum and Cailean’s. I need to go now.” I left her standing there in silence, and when I exited the compartment, I almost bumped into Prim, who was standing on the other side of the door. “Oh! Hello, Little Duck! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you...” She shoved past me into the room, not saying a word to me, and closing the door behind her. Agnessa was her mother, so of course Prim was closer to Agnessa than I was. Perhaps she had overheard my conversation with Agnessa and wasn’t very happy with me. With a sigh, I headed off towards the cafeteria for dinner.

“You’re never this quiet,” Calum said to me when I joined him, Cailean, Finnick, Annie and Johanna in the cafeteria.

“Where’s Peeta?” I asked, ignoring his statement. Part of me really missed him and wanted to see him, but another part of me wanted to be left alone and wanted to know where he was so I could avoid his location.

“Got caught up in planning with Delly and Carolina, I think,” said Cailean. “Carolina is an excellent wedding planner.”

“She planned out our wedding, too,” Finnick chimed in.

“She would be, she’s working with Plutarch on propos,” I replied bitterly. Not a moment later, Peeta joined us at the table, sitting down beside me.

“Hey,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late, I had to ask Carolina about tartans.”

“You could have asked me, I’m the Hebridean, not her,” I said, a hint of jealousy in my voice. Perhaps I was already upset from my exchange with Agnessa, but knowing that he was spending time with Carolina, who was quite beautiful with her blonde hair and blue eyes similar to Haymitch’s, pushed me just a little closer to the edge.

“Honey, I can’t ask you about a surprise for you. I’d be spoiling the surprise,” he told me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing the side of my head. “What’s the matter? You look mad.”

“Nothing,” I replied.

“She’s hardly said a word since she sat down,” said Cailean.

“Well geez, that doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’,” Peeta told me. “Want to talk about it in our room?”

“I don’t want to talk about it at all,” I replied, and he let out a sigh.

“Whatever makes you happy, Katniss,” he said, removing his arm from around me and turning his attention to the tray in front of him. The removal of his arm seemed to piss me off even more and I glared at him, then shoved my tray away from me and stood.

“I have a bit of a headache, I think I’m going to go and lie down,” I said. I felt Peeta’s hand on my wrist and I looked down at him, taking note of the concern in his eyes. Mine were laced with stress and fury and I pulled my wrist from his grasp. “I’ll see you later.” I left the cafeteria. I was sure he’d expect me to return to our compartment, but I didn’t want to see him in that moment nor did I want to be bothered, so I went to one of the many supply closets I’d hidden in before seeking solace.

I was alone for perhaps an hour before the door opened, and I sent a glare in the direction of the door expecting Peeta to walk in, but instead, it was Haymitch. He sighed when he saw me, then closed the door behind him. “The boy’s frantic lookin’ for ya. Said ya looked upset and then ya stalked off to your room, but you weren’t there. Why?” he asked me.

“Why do you care?” I asked him. “I want to be alone. Is that too much to ask?”

“You’re marryin’ that boy in a week, don’t start off your marriage by hidin’ from him.”

“We’ll be separated for months on a mission that doesn’t even make any sense,” I replied. “We don’t even get to celebrate our wedding night, not when we depart at three in the morning the next day.”

“Are you afraid to marry him?” I looked up at Haymitch, losing my glare, then shook my head.

“No, not at all. We’ve been together for nearly a year now and I’ve loved him every second. I’m not afraid of marrying him at all.”

“So what’s bitin’ your ass then?” I let out a sigh.

“Mothers, or a lack thereof.” Haymitch sat down on the floor beside me, grunting as he moved.

“You mean Agnessa?” he asked, and I nodded. “We were friends in school, a long time ago. Kinda friends. Her best friend was my childhood neighbour, Maysilee Donner. She and Agnessa were three years younger than me. I was sixteen, they were thirteen, the year Maysilee and I were reaped. Two more were reaped that year, Brandy Donner, Maysilee’s younger sister, and Anderson Cauffield. As you know, only one of us came home. Me.” I sat in silence as I listened to his story. “I didn’t speak to her again until not long after she married your uncle and they had their little girl. She went through a lot. You know, there was a girl before Primrose. She would have been a couple of years younger than you. Died of starvation.” I couldn’t answer him, and now I had averted my eyes from him. “I know she ain’t your Mom, but she’s tryin’ her best. Remember, she went through the Reaping, too. She didn’t have to kill anyone, but she lost people, too.”

“Are you telling me I should try to understand her better?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Haymitch, when I needed a mother, she pushed me away. I’d just lost my own. All she did was scold me for ridiculous reasons and made me wish that I’d gone down on that ship with the rest of my family. And I know how harsh that sounds, but I was eight years old, Haymitch, and I was in a new country, I didn’t know anyone - not even my uncle, who’d come to Panem before I was even born - and I didn’t speak the language, I’d lost my entire family - my parents, five brothers and a sister - and I was scared out of my mind. I needed a mother, but she pushed me away. She never wanted to be there for me and she never wanted me around. You can’t ask me to love her like a mother when she’s only just started trying to act like one, and even now, all she expresses is disappointment in me. You want to know what she said to me when I first came back from the Games? No ‘I’m so glad you came home’ came from her lips. It was ‘You’re too young to have a boyfriend’. Always some damn judgemental remark. I know she’s gone through some pretty shitty situations, and I have, too, but none of it excuses the way she’s treated me these last few years. You don’t understand that, Haymitch, because you haven’t had to live with her for the last ten years, and you don’t know what it’s like to be a refugee from a place so different from here full of people who are cruel to you for no reason other than the fact that you’re different.”

Haymitch let out a heavy sigh. “I was never a refugee, but my mother was. She came to Panem from Hebridia but she wasn’t Hebridean. Said she was somethin’ else, place called France. I’ve read in books that it’s been called that forever. She said her home was destroyed and she was trying so hard to find a place that was safe when she caught wind of Hebridia, so she went there, found out people were goin’ to a place called Panem and hopped on the first ship outta there. She was fourteen and all by herself.”

“That sounds horrible. She was prime Reaping age.”

“Actually, back then, she didn’t have to take part in the Reaping. They didn’t make refugees participate in it ‘cause they were the people who came to Panem from other places and weren't involved in the rebellion. This was before Snow was president, of course. Snow changed that when he took over, but my mother was already a year or two past Reaping age and was safe by then. This was easily a good fifty years ago. She died after my Games. Snow had her killed, along with my two younger sisters.”

“I didn’t know your mother was a refugee.” Haymitch nodded.

“People treated her differently. It’s why I look like I should be a merchant when I’m really from the Seam. She was blonde, blue-eyed and beautiful. Everything Twelve would expect of a merchant girl. But it didn’t matter. They knew, soon as she opened her mouth, that she weren’t one of them. Treated me differently, too, because of it. All the kids of refugees got treated differently. Agnessa, my mother, me, Mellie Marks...”

“Mellie Marks? Isn’t... isn't that Peeta’s mother?”

“She was the daughter of a Hebridean refugee.”

“I... I had no idea... Does Peeta know?”

“Don’t think so.” I nodded gently, then let out a sigh.

“I appreciate you talking to me... it doesn’t make me understand Agnessa better, but just talking in general makes me feel better.”

“Sure thing, kiddo. Do you remember your mom at all?”

“Eilidh? Yeah... She was my Uncle Archie’s sister. He used to bring you meat, didn’t he?” Haymitch nodded. “Like him, she had a voice that would silence even the birds. She had hair the colour of the sunset and eyes the colour of the grass. She was beautiful. In my compartment, I have pictures of her from an old photo album my father had kept in the suitcase he rescued from the ship, if you’d like to see them sometime.”

“Peeta says you haven’t even shown him. Maybe ya should.”

“Maybe...” I let out a sigh. “I miss her... It was her who inspired me to go into healthcare. I never wanted to. It makes me a bit squeamish, honestly, but it was something that I connected with her. It brought me closer to her. I thought that if I could be a midwife, I could be like her. She used to sing a song to me, ‘Mo Ghruagach Dhonn’... It means ‘My Brown-Haired Lass’. She didn’t write it, but she’d sing it to me all the time. Her mother sang to her a version of it with red hair, and her mother before her sang it to her, too. When I was young, before Panem and before the Games, I thought I would sing it to my daughter.” I felt Haymitch’s hand on my shoulder and I glanced up, looking into the blue eyes of the man I was starting to view as my father figure.

“Go on back to him, sweetheart. The boy. It should be him you’re reminiscin’ with, he’s about to be your husband after all.”

“Would he understand?”

“His mother’s dead, too.”

“But his mother didn’t love him the way our mothers loved us.”

“Maybe not, but he loved her the same way we loved our mothers.” I glanced down at my feet, then nodded gently.

“Thank you,” I whispered, then we stood and I pulled him into a hug. “I’ll go back to Peeta. Thank you for talking to me. I needed it.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” said Haymitch, and I felt him press a gentle kiss to my temple. He had a biological daughter in Carolina, whom he adored, but out of all of the kids that he mentored for the Hunger Games, I was the only girl to survive. We often had a volatile relationship, but the Games made us family, and perhaps we loved each other as the family we became.

When I returned to my compartment, I stood outside the door and gathered my senses, not wanting to break down in tears when I told Peeta why I was so distressed. Mothers and motherhood had always been a sensitive topic to me, but Haymitch was right. Peeta was about to become my husband and I needed to share with him everything, including the emotions that I wanted to hide and keep to myself. Peeta wouldn’t judge me - he loved me, and I loved him. I let out one final sigh, then opened the door. Peeta had been sitting on the bed fiddling with a rope and tying knots, a trick Finnick had taught us to keep ourselves busy when stressed. Upon hearing the door, he jumped up, throwing the rope to the floor and waiting to see who it was that had walked into the door.

“Katniss!” he cried when he saw me, and he ran to me, throwing his arms around me and squeezing me tightly. I gently wrapped my arms around him and held him, letting him fuss over me as I kicked the door closed behind me. “Katniss, where the hell were you? I was worried sick! I thought Coin... I thought she’d taken you, made you go out on some mission...”

“I wouldn’t let her do that without being married to you first,” I told him calmly, and he pulled back from the embrace to look at me. “I’m sorry... I just had a moment, and I needed to be alone. I promise that I intended on coming back here, but then my feet carried me elsewhere and by some miracle, Haymitch found me and talked some sense into me.”

“He’s good at doing that, isn’t he?” he asked me, and I nodded. “Are you okay? What happened? Do you wanna talk about it?” He led me over to the bed to sit down, but I didn’t sit on the bed. Instead, I went to my drawer in the dresser, pushed aside some clothes that concealed the photo album my father had put together long ago and pulled it out. I looked down at the front of it. It was an old leather-bound book with the name ‘Fòlais’ painted on the front of it in a creamy vanilla colour. I then turned to Peeta, sitting down beside him and handing him the book. “I thought you didn’t want me to see this...”

“There’s no reason not to. I just... For a while, I wanted to keep what I had left of my family to myself... No one saw it, not even Prim... But you’re about to marry into this family, so you deserve to know the family that’s going to become yours,” I told him. “Go ahead, open it.” He glanced at me, meeting my eyes and making sure I was sure, before he flipped open the cover and looked down at the pictures on the first page. There was my parents’ wedding photo, of them exchanging the Everdeen and Fòlais tartans, and a photograph of myself, Dòmhnall, Cailean, Calum, an old childhood friend called Ribinnean Muireach and her brother, Frìseal, all putting on our crab puppet show. There was a photograph of my mother holding me, both of us dressed in traditional Hebridean costume. She was kneeling down beside me, holding me and we were both smiling at the camera. I must have been five years old, give or take. The photograph showed her brilliant sunset orange curls that framed her alabaster face. She looked beautiful.

“You look just like her,” Peeta whispered, his fingers running over the photograph. “You’re both so beautiful... She looks like she was a wonderful mother.”

“She was... She was like my uncle in the sense that she could sing and the world would stop to listen to her. I miss her so much...” Peeta leaned over to press a gentle kiss on my cheek, then looked back down at the photos.

“I wish I could hear her sing,” he said.

“I’d give anything to hear her voice again,” I replied.

“Has she ever visited you in your dreams?” Peeta asked me, and I glanced up at him.

“No... No one I’ve lost has ever visited me in my dreams. Does your family visit you?” He nodded.

“My dad visited me last night... He told me to pass on a message to you, from your mother.” I looked at him incredulously. Why was he saying this? Was he trying to cause me more pain? “He said ‘Tell Katniss that Eilidh wants her to open her mind and her heart, that she can’t visit unless she opens the door.’ He also said something, I don’t know really how to say it... He said... ‘Ha gool agam orsht... moon beekan...?’ Did I say that right?” I couldn’t help but laugh at his botched pronunciation.

“ _ Tha gaol agam ort, m’eun beagan... _ It means ‘I love you, my little bird’. She used to say that to me when I was little,” I said, now with a smile on my face. It really was a message from my mother. No one said that to me except for her. My father called me ‘ _ cearc beagan’ _ or ‘little hen’, but no one but my mother called me ‘little bird’.

That night, I tried to open my heart and my mind, but I had no visitors in my dreams. I tried again the next night, and the next, but there was nothing. On the night before I was to marry Peeta, as I lay down my head to sleep in the compartment that belonged to Prim and Agnessa, I expected to be plagued by nightmares, but they were kept away by a visitor I wasn’t expecting.

I was in a strange place I didn’t recognise. The walls were wallpapered with an old faded floral pattern and the floors were oak wood. I was seated at a vanity, my brown hair falling in loose waves around me, and I was dressed in the traditional Hebridean wedding dress, the same one I would be wearing when I married Peeta. I was decorated with the Fòlais family tartan and I was alone in the strange room, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Suddenly, I heard footsteps, and I looked at the door as it opened to find Mellie Mellark - Peeta’s mother - walking into the door. “Hello, Katniss,” she said to me, and I looked at her with surprise. Why was this woman, who hated people from the Seam and wanted nothing to do with Peeta’s fascination with the girl from the Seam, here in my dreams? Peeta told me how opposed to our engagement that she was, and how she refused to hear any talk of me in the house, and yet, here she was, visiting me in my dreams. “Your mother sent me.”

“Why isn’t she here?” I asked, eyeing Mellie Mellark suspiciously.

“She’s visiting my son tonight,” she told me, coming into the room and closing the door behind me. “This is my house that we’re in, or rather, a memory of it.” I could hear the faint tone of a Hebridean accent in her voice - certain words, not all of them. “I know you think I never wanted you to marry my son, but even I could see how much he loved you, and once I died and was forced to watch everything again, I could see how much you really loved him. I regret the way I treated you, and I wanted to apologise.”

“Thank you... it means a lot to have your approval,” I said to her. “I didn’t know you were the daughter of a Hebridean refugee. I thought you hated refugees.”

“My mother was from the Dunaid family. She came to Panem, met my father who owned the candy shop and they married and had my older sister. I came shortly after,” Mellie told me. She approached me and turned my head to look back at the mirror, and she picked up a brush and started running it through my hair. “Are you ready to marry my son?”

“More ready that I could ever imagine... but then we’ll be separated. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not very happy about that either. I don’t want that President Coin witch to send my son into battle like that.”

“Why do you care? You hated him.” I looked at her reflection in the mirror and she froze slightly, then let out a sigh. I then took a good look at her features. She looked Hebridean, and she had stormy grey Hebridean eyes and strawberry blonde Hebridean hair. She had the nose of a Celt, same as me.

“I could never hate my son... It’s true that I should have treated him better, and I wasn’t fair to him in life. I wanted a daughter, but instead I just got another son. Even so, he was unexpected. I didn’t want to have another child to be at risk of getting Reaped. He did anyway.” She resumed brushing my hair. “I did love my son, but I couldn’t show it. I don’t know why I treated him the way that I did. I wish I could take it all back. In life, I thought I was just trying to make him a better person, but in reality, I was breaking him badly. I realised that when I saw my life played back before me.”

“Have you visited him since you died?”

“No. I don’t think he wants me to.”

“He would. You’re his mother, he loves you no matter what.”

“I never told him I loved him...”

“So tell him now. Visit him in his dreams and tell him. He needs to hear it.” She was silent as she ran the brush through my hair, then she separated two sections of hair on either side of my face and started braiding one of them, then the other, and she then pulled them both back and united them in a braid that fell down the middle of the back of my head. “What are you doing?”

“This was how my mother had her hair done in their wedding photo. It’s a traditional Hebridean wedding braid.” She then pulled out a handful of small purple flowers that looked almost like daisies, except they had magenta petals instead of white that surrounded the golden middle.

“What are those?”

“Hebridean primroses. They grow them in the gardens of District Thirteen. Ask for them.” When she was finished braiding the flowers into the small braids of my hair, she picked up a hand mirror and showed me the back of it. It was beautiful, and I raised a hand to touch the petals of the purple primroses in my hair.

“Thank you... it’s beautiful...”

“I’m glad now that you’re marrying my son. You’re doing it because you love him, not because the Capitol is threatening you to.” She adjusted the Fòlais tartan collar around my neck and then met my eyes in the mirror, her hands on my shoulders. “ _ Guma fada buan thu, mo phàiste,” _ she said in Gàidhlig. It meant ‘long may you live, my child’ and was a well-wishing phrase that we used in Hebridia at weddings. I closed my eyes only for a moment, savouring the moment with the spirit of my soon-to-be mother-in-law, whom I now understood better, and I wanted to turn and embrace her, but when I opened my eyes, she was gone.

I asked Agnessa to braid my hair the way Mellie Mellark had done in my dream, explaining that it was a traditional wedding braid used in Hebridia, and she complied. I’d asked Prim to fetch Hebridean Primroses from the gardens of Thirteen for my hair and she did, and they were as beautiful as they were in my dream. I had awoken at eight, having been able to sleep in just a little, and then I began to prepare for the wedding at noon. The actual ceremony would be at three. I didn’t need hours to prepare, but I was dragging my feet in doing so due to nerves. As the hour crept closer, I felt myself getting even more and more nervous, so much so that my hands visibly shook. Agnessa noticed and took my hands in hers, and I glanced up to meet her blue eyes.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I want this more than anything and I’m confident that I’m not making a mistake. I love him,” I said to her.

“It’s a normal thing for a bride to be nervous,” she told me. She looked as if she had something on her mind but didn’t want to speak it.

“You’re thinking about something,” I told her. “What is it?” She let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry your mother can’t be here to help you... I’m sorry that it’s me,” she said sadly.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for... I should apologise for being so cold. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a mother and that’s okay,” I told her.

“I regret our relationship. I’ve been so cold to you all your life when I shouldn't have been. You lost your mother, and all you wanted was to be loved, and I didn’t give you that.”

“I don’t resent you for it. I’ve grown past that.”

“It breaks my heart that I had to be the one to watch you grow and not your own mother. Archie told me wonderful things about her, about how she loved with all her heart. He admired his sister and loved her dearly. He was so heartbroken when he learned she’d died, but he had you to remember her by.” I nodded gently, and Agnessa looked up at the clock on the wall. “It’s time to take you down to the hall... Are you ready?” I nodded, and she picked up a wedding veil, but I shook my head. “President Coin wants you to wear the veil.”

“We don’t wear them in Hebridia, so I won’t be wearing one. If she wants to punish me for it, she’ll have to wait until after we get back from the mission, and that won’t be for months,” I replied, my heart clenching as I thought about the mission that would separate Peeta and I only hours after our marriage. I walked down to the hall with both Agnessa and Prim and Haymitch met us outside of the door.

“Coin says fathers gotta walk their girls down the aisle. She wants me to do it since I’m your mentor,” he told me.

“Is this my wedding or hers?” I asked him, and he chuckled gently.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s go and get ya married to that boy,” he said. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you,” I replied sincerely. Coin had wanted some silly Capitol wedding march to play as I walked down the aisle, but Cailean and Calum pulled some strings with the musicians and ensured that a traditional Hebridean melody would be playing instead. As I walked into the grand hall, it wasn’t lavishly decorated, but looked as if it were meant to represent a wedding. It was a curved aisle, and from where we began, I could see my bridesmaids standing by the altar - Prim, Carolina Abernathy and Annie Cresta-Odair, all dressed in a beautiful pale dusty blue colour. Johanna Mason was also supposed to stand as a bridesmaid, but had a relapse in training and was in the hospital. As we rounded the corner, Peeta came into view, and dressed in a light grey, almost white suit, he looked incredibly handsome. Around his neck was the tartan of Clan Dunaid, the family that Mellie Mellark had told me her mother had belonged to in my dream. He had Hebridean in him after all. His brilliant blue eyes raised to meet mine and he smiled warmly at me, our eyes never dropping until Haymitch stopped me to plant a gentle kiss on my cheek.

“You did good, sweetheart,” he whispered into my ear, then he took my hand and led it to Peeta, who took my hand in his as Haymitch moved to stand beside Peeta and his groomsmen, which was made up of Finnick, Cailean, Calum and Gale. I wasn’t sure why Gale agreed to be one of Peeta’s groomsmen, but he did, and I made it a point to ask him later.

Peeta took both of my hands in his, and an officiate stood before us. “We are gathered here today to witness the Union of Katniss Everdeen-Fòlais and Peeta Mellark, who, on this day - the thirtieth of May in the year 2161, will be joined in marriage,” the officiate began in a Hebridean accent. “Be there anyone who opposes this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.” I glanced at Gale, who shifted, but said nothing, and my eyes flitted back to Peeta’s. “Excellent, we may begin. Mr. Mellark, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” said Peeta, giving my hands a squeeze. I smiled gently at him, which he returned.

“Miss Everdeen-Fòlais-”

“Just Fòlais, please,” I said, interrupting him.

“Miss Fòlais... do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” I said, giving Peeta’s hands a squeeze.

“Miss Fòlais has requested the traditional Hebridean vow of marriage when giving the ring. Mr. Mellark, repeat after me, if you can.” Peeta nodded as the officiate cleared his throat. “ _ Bheir mi dhut m’ anam.” _

“Vehr mi... hoot... manam...” he struggled, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“ _ Bheir mi dhut mo chridhe.” _

“Vehr mi hoot... mo... k... kridee...”

“ _ Tha mi a’ mionnachadh gu bheil agam ort.” _ I couldn’t help but giggle at Peeta’s widened eyes as he looked at the man with surprise.

“Uh... ha mi... ah... meeon-akad... gu veel... agam orsht...”

“ _ Gus am bi a’ ghrian na chadal gu bràth. _ ”

“Goose am bee... ah greean na hadal goo brah...” I couldn’t stop my giggling as he blushed and smiled at me, giving my hands a playful squeeze.

“You may put your ring on her finger.” Peeta slid the silver band onto my left ring finger. “Now, Miss Fòlais, the tradition here that we have started in District Thirteen for the union of a Hebridean and a Panemian is for the Panemian to recite the vows in Gàidhlig and the Hebridean to recite the vows in English. If you will repeat after me. I give you my soul.”

“I give you my soul,” I said.

“I give you my heart.”

“I give you my heart.”

“I swear to love thee.”

“I swear to love thee.”

“Until the sun sleeps forever.”

“Until the sun sleeps forever.”

“You got off easy, didn’t you?” Peeta said with a chuckle, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I slipped Peeta’s silver wedding band onto his finger. We then practiced the official Hebridean wedding tradition, which involved Peeta and I removing the tartans of our families from our necks, and tying them around the neck of the other, signifying that the two families were united.

“I now declare this couple Man and Wife, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark. You may now kiss your bride,” said the officiate. Peeta smiled and finally let go of my hands, taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips against mine in our first kiss as man and wife - my first time kissing my husband.

The cameras were in our faces almost the whole time, recording just about everything we did, capturing every word we said, following our every movement. At one point, Peeta excused himself to head off to the bathroom, leaving me to fend for myself with the cameras. I saw him bend down and whisper something into the ear of Ribinnean Muirreach, who nodded, as he went on his way.

“Thank you all for coming to such a wonderful event, witnessing the marriage of our Victors of the 74th Hunger Games,” said President Coin, standing on the raised platform that Peeta and I had stood on when we were married. About an hour had passed, two since the marriage ceremony, and dinner was being had. We all sat at tables and dined at five in the evening and watched President Coin’s speech. I thought it was funny how she thanked everyone for being here - it was required by law. “We will now witness a traditional District Twelve toasting ceremony between our newly married couple.”

“Nothing traditional about this,” Peeta whispered to me, and I couldn’t help but snicker quietly as we both stood and made our way to the raised platform. A tray with a candle and a loaf of bread was brought out and held in front of us and Peeta took the loaf, split it into two and handed me the other half.

“The toasting ceremony,” Peeta began, addressing the crowd and the cameras, “is a traditional ceremony of District Twelve in which the couple visits the Justice Hall with a witness to legally apply for a marriage license, and the toasting ceremony is generally performed that night, in the privacy of their home with the first fire that the couple creates in their hearth. Katniss and I are honoured to share our toasting ceremony with you all.” I felt a firm hand on my lower back, signifying that Peeta was not at all happy about us performing our toasting in front of so many people. We each took our half of the loaf and held it up to the candle, then turned to face each other to recite the Toasting Vows. “Katniss, with the toasting of this bread, I promise to love you for all of eternity, to care for you in sickness and in health, and to cherish every moment that we have together.” There wasn’t anything particularly romantic about it, but then again, it was all for the cameras.

“Peeta,” I said, as it was now my turn, “with the toasting of this bread... I promise...” I paused, as I didn’t actually know the Toasting Vows.

“To love you...” Peeta whispered to me quietly.

“To love you for... all of eternity, to care for you...”

“In sickness...”

“...in sickness and in health... and to cherish every moment that we have together.” He smiled at me, and we fed each other the pieces of bread in the ‘traditional’ District Twelve toasting ceremony. Once we had swallowed the bread, Peeta pulled me closer to him and took my face in his hands, pressing his lips against mine in a passionate, camera-ready kiss. He might have treated it as camera-ready, but I certainly didn’t, and he had to break the kiss before either of us lost control.

“Save that energy for later,” he whispered to me somewhat seductively.

“There won’t be a later,” I replied sadly, reminding him of the mission that would start only in a few hours. I hardly heard Coin announcing that the festivities would begin, as I was far too distracted by drinking in every ounce of Peeta - my husband - that I possibly could.

“Katniss, look,” he whispered to me, gesturing towards the platform where the musicians were. Standing on the platform was Ribinnean Muirreach, dressed in the Muirreach family tartan (as it was traditional for women to wear their family tartans at all weddings, but theirs was the entire skirt of their ensemble, while the bride’s was just a rectangle of fabric draped over the hips of the dress. The men would wear kilts). She had a guitar in her hands and she strummed the beginning of a familiar song, one I hadn’t heard in such a long, long time.

_ Hi ro ho, mo ghruagach dhonn, _

_ ‘S ann ort fhèin a dh’fhàs an loinn: _

_ Dh’fhàg siud acaid na mo chom, _

_ An gaol cho trom ‘s a gabh mi ort... _

It was my mother’s song, the one she sang to me when I was little. The one that told of the brown-haired lass, whose beauty becomes more beguiling. The deep love my mother had for me had left her sorely wounded. Isn’t that what love does? Especially when you lose it? I felt myself remove myself from Peeta’s arms and climb down from the platform as I approached the platform that Ribinnean was singing on.

_ Fhuair mi do litir Dimàirt, _

_ Dh’innseadh dhòmhsa mar a bha: _

_ Gu robh thu a’ tighinn gun dàil _

_ A-mach air bàta Ghlaschu... _

This next verse talked of the brown-haired lass’s letter having arrived on Tuesday ‘telling of what was to be’. It told that her ship would arrive in the old city of Glasgow, now nothing more than an island in the island cluster that made up Hebridia, without delay. I felt myself lifting my skirts as I climbed the platform and Ribinnean smiled and held out her hand to me, and I took it as I joined her on the next verse of the old song that our mothers sang to us.

_ Nuair a leugh mi mar a bha, _

_ Gabh mi sìos am Brumalà: _

_ Chunnaic mi a’ tighinn am bàt’ _

_ ‘S an t-àilleagan, an ainnir, innt’... _

_ Nuair a shìn mi mach mo làmh, _

_ Thionnaidh thu le fiamh a’ ghàir’ _

_ ‘S labhair thu facal no dhà _

_ Dh’fhàg iomadh tràth gun chadal mi... _

These next two verses told of the lover of the brown-haired lass rushing to a place called the Broomielaw, which I believe was a road in the old city of Glasgow (according to my mother) and he saw the ship carrying the girl approach. When he held out his hand, she turned with a slight smile and uttered a couple of words, which left him sleepless for many nights. I felt that Peeta had that same effect on me, and perhaps I had that effect on him.

_ ‘S ann ort fhèin tha ghruag a’ fàs -  _

_ Cha dubh ‘s cha ruadh is cha bhàn, _

_ Ach ma an t-òr as àille snuadh, _

_ Gu buidhe, dualach, camalagach... _

_ Dhèanainn sgrìobhadh dhut le peannt, _

_ Dhèanainn treabhadh dhut le crann, _

_ Dhèanainn sgiobair dhut air luing, _

_ Air nighean donn nam meall-shùilean... _

These verses told of how the brown-haired lass had the loveliest hair, neither black, nor red, nor fair, but the colour of the most beautiful gold, yellow, braided and curled. Perhaps this verse was really talking about Peeta? No, it said braided... Perhaps, dare I say lest I bring it to reality, a golden-haired girl with her hair in a braid, with Peeta’s brilliant blue eyes and my Hebridean features? The song then told of how the lover would write for the brown-haired lass with a pen, how he would cultivate for her with a plough, and he would captain a ship for her. It then called her a ‘brown-haired lass of the deceiving eyes’. Ribinnean then stepped aside, letting me sing the next verse on my own after a musical break. I’d forgotten about the audience, and instead, turned my eyes to the ceiling, singing to no one but my mother.

_ Meòir is grinn thu air an t-snàth _

_ No cur peannt air pàipear bàn, _

_ Ach ma chaidh thu null thar sàil _

_ Dh’Astràilia, mo bheannachd leat... _

_ Cha bhi mi tuilleadh fo leòn, _

_ Glacaidh mi tè ùr air spòig -  _

_ Solamh bu ghlice bha beò, _

_ Bha aige mòran leannanan... _

The next two verses mentioned how she was good at working wool and writing on blank paper, suggesting that perhaps she had left the lover a letter. It then says she had gone overseas to a distant land called Australia, wherever that was, and the lover said goodbye to her. He then decided that he would no longer be in despair and that he would grab a new lover by the hand. Solomon, some man known as ‘the wisest man who lived’, had many lovers, so he could, too. If I died - gone off to some distant place far away from the realm of the living - would Peeta find another lover?

As a child, I simply thought my mother was singing an endearing song to me, her brown-haired lass, but as an adult, I could see that the lyrics were far darker than I had initially believed. I’d understood it, of course - I spoke the language the song was in, but children never truly understand the darker meanings of things. Not until those things apply to them as adults. I could feel myself being led from the platform and down into Peeta’s waiting arms, and he pulled me into an embrace. “I hoped you wouldn’t mind, but I asked Ribinnean to sing the song that your mother sang,” he told me as he held me.

“How did you know it was her song?” I asked him, already knowing the answer.

“She visited me in my dream last night,” he told me. “She asked me to ask Ribinnean to sing the song for you. She said it was the best way she knew how to be here for you on the day of your wedding.”

“Your mother visited me,” I told him, and he pulled back from the embrace to give me a questioning look.

“ _ My _ mother?” he asked, and I nodded. “Why?”

“Why did you wear the Dunaid tartan?” I asked him.

“I don’t know... your mother told me to wear it,” he replied, still very confused.

“Your mother was the daughter of a Hebridean refugee,” I told him. “Clan Dunaid. That’s your family, Peeta.”

“I... I had no idea... she... she was always so harsh towards refugees. She hated their existence. How can she hate her own kind?”

“I don’t think she hated them, Peeta. I think she was trying to give her family a better life, as brutal as it sounds. You know how kids treated refugees in Twelve, even those who were grandchildren of refugees.  _ You’re _ a grandchild of a refugee.”

“I never met my mother’s parents...”

“Perhaps you’d have known sooner, if you had.”

The rest of the evening was everything that was expected of a wedding. We danced to Hebridean folk songs, Ribinnean sang on some and others were sung by another singer, while many were simply instrumental. I taught Peeta a couple of Hebridean dance steps, although he wasn’t exactly the most graceful dancer. I wanted so badly to slip away with him in secret, to give us time as a newlywed couple before we were sent out on the mission that would separate us for months, but the harsh looks from President Coin warned me not to leave her sight.

I wasn’t ready to be separated from Peeta. I couldn’t live without him. I didn’t even like the few minutes we spent apart whenever he went to fetch me a drink or food or went to the bathroom. How could I survive without him for months? I didn’t even know how many months that would be. It could be two, it could be six. However many it took to ratify the districts. It would be a tearful goodbye for certain, and I hated Coin for being so cruel as to separate us mere hours after our marriage. She claimed it would ‘help feed the emotional appeal of the districts’. Of course it would. Peeta and I were just pawns in someone else’s game now. As the hours ticked by, I clung to Peeta tighter and tighter, demanding more kisses and more embraces and refusing to dance with anyone but him.

And then the dreaded hour came.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this gave me an interesting idea involving Peeta’s parents, so look out for that soon!


End file.
